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If it's Tuesday, this must be Morocco

The laneways and alleys in the old city of Fez, or Fes as the locals spelled it, are dim and murky at the best of times, but at midnight they are particularly gloomy. Yet, the broad-shouldered silver fox moved though them like he had grow up there. He had not; nor had he ever visited the ancient Moroccan city before, but a voice whispering in his ear told him when and where to turn. A hundred meters ahead of him and out of sight a female cheetah dressed in a manner the locals would have deemed 'inappropriate' was following similar instructions while a hundred meters behind a short black fox in jeans and a tee-shirt brought up the rear.

There were no vehicles allowed in the nine thousand and six hundred plus passages of the Fez Medina. Some, like the one the silver fox was currently traversing, were too narrow even for a moped. It was so tight that he had to turn his shoulders sideways least he ruin the black wool tuxedo jacket he was wearing. Donkeys were the sole form of transport in the Media, and all of them were in bed at this hour. Indeed, most everyone was indoors, not because there was any danger of being robbed or raped, but because they all had to be up by dawn for the first Islamic prayer of the day.

Occasionally the fox traversed the wider streets of the Souk, the ancient market, but all the shops were all closed and locked. It would be different during Ramadan, or so he had been briefed, when the locals stayed up most of the night to eat and conduct business that was forbidden during the daylight hours. But it was not Ramadan, and everything was quiet.

"Turn right at the tee-junction." The voice in his ear said. "The house you want is the third door on the left."

The fox made the turn and counted the doors. The one he stooped in front of was typical of the Medina. It was a large, solid wooden door reinforced with iron and had a smaller door built into it. Each door had its own bell pull, and each bell would make a different sound inside the residence. The tradition was for family, neighbours and friends to use the small door and for strangers to use the large one, thus the sound of the bell pull would alert the inhabitants as to who to expect ... and give them time to make any necessary preparations. That could entail tidying up to make a good impression or erecting barricades and arming themselves.

The big silver fox turned the crank on the larger door to announce that he was a stranger.

Ahead and behind him the cheetah and the black fox paused, one taking a flash-lit selfie in front of a communal fountain and the other bending to tighten his shoelaces.

The large door opened quickly, without a challenge or query, and a voice invited the silver fox to enter.

Back in the laneways the others straightened up and continued to wind their way through the Medina in the same general direction they had been going before, leaving the residence the silver fox had entered far behind.

The interior of the building was completely different from the drab, grey exterior. First there was a short corridor with a font for guests to wash their paws and faces. It opened up on a large courtyard, several stories high, that had once been open to the sky but was now covered with a transparent dome. Filling the courtyard was garden with a fountain in its centre, which fed four canals that dived the garden into quarters. The water disappeared at the edges of the garden, perhaps draining into and underground cistern so that none was wasted. It was an extravagant display of wealth from olden times, especially decadent given the drought that had depleted the countries water supply these last few years.

Like most residences in the old city the interior of this one was opulent in its decor. Most of the residences in the Fez Medina were over seven hundred years old, and the accumulated additions from generations of owners had made even the poorest abode an extravaganza of coloured tiles, carved plaster and cedar ceilings that rivaled the most luxurious western homes. They may not have electricity or running water, but they would be cooled in the summer by the tiles and warmed in the winter by Berber carpets handed down though the female side of the family.

This place, however, was extravagant even by Moroccan standards. The fox suspected that it may have been the residence of a minor Prince back in the day.

He was not searched upon entry, but he noted that there were two modern metallic panels at the end of the corridor that did not fit in with the rest of the decorations. Full body scanners, no doubt.

The small fennec that had greeted him led him up a narrow, tiled staircase to the second floor. The fennec, who was, appropriately enough, wearing a red Fez, bowed and gestured for the larger fox to enter an open door. As soon as he stepped inside the door closed behind him, leaving the fox alone in a lavishly decorated office.

As with most Muslim homes in the region there were no widows in the room, but the oil lamps threw sufficient light for him to make out that the only other occupant was a rather obese camel sitting behind an elaborately carved wooden desk.

Dromedary, the fox corrected himself, counting only one hump as his host stood and came around the desk to clasp his paws in greeting.

"Ah, Mister Silver, I believe? The Director of the Foreign Operations eXecutive, if I have the honour? Welcome to my humble abode. I am Mister Ferrari. My family traces its roots back to the days of the Roman occupation, that is where the name Ferrari comes from. Many Moroccan citizens are descendants of the Romans, but I suspect that you knew that already."

Silver did not ask if the dromedary meant whether Silver knew that he was named Ferrari, whether he was aware of the origins of the name or whether he was cognizant of the country's demographics. He did, however, tap the insert in his ear, because it had gone dead once he entered the office. The signal from the drone circling overhead that had connected him with the Operations Centre in Ottawa had been cut off.

"I'm afraid that you cannot communicate with your agency inside this room." Ferrari said with a wry grin. "I value my privacy, you understand."

The camelid took a sweet from a bowl on the desk and offered one to Silver. The fox shook his head. Ferrari shrugged and sat back behind the desk, leaving Silver standing.

"To business then. Why are you here, Mister Silver? Why did you seek me out?"

"I'm her to negotiate."

"Good, that is what we do here in the Souk, negotiate."

"Some would call it haggling."

"Only if the price is not fair to begin with. I assure you, Mister Silver, that whatever it is you want from me, the price will be fair ... or close to it."

"A NATO courier was, ah, ... waylaid the other day, in Casablanca. We have information indicating that he is your guest at the moment. I would like you to turn him over to me."

The dromedary shrugged. "Even if I had such a rare and valuable possession, why should I turn it over to you?"

"Him. Turn him over. Brussels will of course provide a suitably large reward for his safe return. Anything you found on his possession you can keep."

"You know full well that he had no documents on him. One must assume that whatever information he was to convey was memorized."

The fox studied the dromedary before speaking. "You'll never get him to talk."

"Me? Of course not." Ferrari said with a real grin. "That is not the kind of business I engage in, but some of my clients can, and will, get him to talk, should they prove to be the highest bidder, of course."

"What makes you think that whatever he supposedly knows is valuable?"

"Your appearance here tells me that it is valuable, valuable enough to risk putting the Director of F.O.X. in my hooves."

"I warn you, Ferrari, I did not come alone."

Ferrari uttered an amused chuckle. "Your escort apparently missed the residence and have wandered off deeper into the Souk. My people are keeping an eye on them, and should they head back this way ..."

Silver sighed in surrender. "Perhaps I have made an error by coming here personally, but I needed to impress upon you our conviction in this matter. As Director, I can promise you F.O.X.'s help and cooperation. We have many secrets that might profit you. Name your price."

"Money is the only thing that motivates me, Mister Silver. Less legal commodities, including people, can be bought and sold for a profit as easily as Berber carpets here in Fez, once the proper authorities are paid off. But like a colourful carpet woven by widows on the edge of the Sahara the worth is mostly in the eye of the beholder. It is up to others judge how valuable the information this courier holds actually is and profit from it. Now, if you were willing to offer cash ... in US dollars or Euros of course ... Canadian dollars are so hard to exchange here."

Silver bit his lip, a gesture not unnoticed by Ferrari. "I'll need proof of life first."

"What proof would satisfy you?"

"A video chat, one question that only our courier can answer. Then we can get down to ... negotiations."

"That can be arranged."

Ferrari opened a folded tablet and tapped the screen several times before barking orders in what Silver assumed was his native dialect. A moment later he spun the tablet around to show a dishevelled Belgium Malinois. The canine was tied to a chair in a windowless room that could be almost anywhere in the sprawling Medina. He was conscious, and other than a few scrapes and bruises looked to be in good shape.

Silver addressed him in his native Flemish, asking his name. The canine replied in the same language with the correct name. Even though he recognized him from the file NATO Headquarters had sent over, Silver continued to ask general questions about the canine's life and career, the kind of thing the courier may have already told an interrogator. Then he asked, "What does Phillipe's wife have tattooed on her Vulva?"

The currier froze, seemingly more terrified by the question than his current predicament.

"Tell me the truth, Alain. Your life depends on it."

"It ... it is ..." the canine stuttered, "... a children's cartoon character. A square yellow sponge."

Silver sat back with a disappointed look and indicated to Ferrari to cut off the conversation.

"No, wait!" the Malinois screamed. "It's HALF the cartoon character! The rest ... the rest ... it's done to make it look like he is emerging from her ... Oh God! Does Phillipe know? His temper ... I have warn her!" The big dog was sobbing openly now.

The big fox nodded, satisfied, and indicated that he had heard enough.

"Who is Phillipe?" Ferrari chuckled. "His best friend?"

"His boss, and Father-in-Law."

"Maybe it would be kinder if you let me sell him to the Russians."

Silver bit his lip and nervously tapped the dial of the big Rolex he was wearing with one claw. "Funny you should mention the Russians."

"Your Courier was on his way to the Ukraine when his plane was re-routed through Casablanca. Of course, the Russians would be interested in any message for the Ukrainians so secret it had to be memorized. Oh, don't look at me like that, Mister Silver! They contacted me when he somehow slipped through their digits. I merely took advantage of the situation."

"How much would it take to appeal to your better senses and turn him over to me?" Silver asked, still nervously tapping his watch, the dromedary observed. He would make a poor haggler, Ferrari thought, and a worse poker player. Maybe he could interest the fox in a game before he left Fez?

Thirty-five thousand kilometres above West Africa the geostationary communications satellite that had been guiding Silver earlier was laser focused on Farrari's mansion. It had been monitoring every electronic emission in every frequency, including the hard-wired system which a local telecoms employee had just the day before graciously spiced a transponder into at the urging of a voluptuous cheetah who had very generously compensated him for his time and effort. So, despite the shielding on Ferrari's office, the signal connecting his tablet to a series of nodes was detected as soon as it as was live.

Back in Ottawa, a young Arctic fox traced the signal to its destination and sent the location out to agents on the ground. He also forced the connection to stay open by inserting a bit of code into the tablet, making the screen go blank but otherwise leaving everything else running. The tablet had become a transmitter, relaying the conversation in the room as well as any sound it's sensitive microphone could detect. That included the coded message Silver was tapping out on his watch face.

While Silver pretended to negotiate badly, six figures in camouflage designed for the Medina emerged on the roof of the former mansion next to Ferrari's. Knowing that the glass dome over Ferrari's courtyard was bullet proof and explosive resistant the leader directed some of the team to place a half dozen metal plates connected by wires to a box he carried. When they were ready he flicked a switch and a barely audible 'buzz' filled the air. An instant later the dome disappeared in a cloud of ceramic dust.

The rest of the team had been tying off ropes and as soon as the dome shattered all six ran and leapt into the newly opened courtyard.

Inside the office Ferrari heard muffled gunfire and small explosions, punctuated with screams in Berber and Arabic.

"Mister Silver!" He chided as he fumbled for an antique Luger he kept in his desk drawer. "This is terribly bad form! You bring shame on the art of negotiation."

Before he could reach the Luger he saw the small pistol in Silver's paw.

"Where did that come from?"

"That is the kind of thing you might have known if you bought and sold information more often." Silver said as he walked backwards to the door and waited for the coded knock he was expecting.

He turned the lock and the office door burst open, allowing four of the recovery team inside.

"Report."

"The guards have retreated to a secure room by the entrance. Your escort arranged for a distraction on the other side of the Medina so it will be a while before the local police can get here. They have moved on to the extraction point to prepare it. Rescue team South has reached the location of the hostage and will breach momentarily."

"What!" Farrari injected. "How could they get there so fast?"

Silver turned to where two team members were placing restraints on the dromedary.

"We had several teams on the hilltops around the Medina. As soon as we had the signal they all launched on paragliders, riding the updrafts of the warmer urban area. When we had the location the closest team went in. The rest will be securing the area until the hostage is safely gone."

Then he turned back to the leader. "All set to go?"

"Yes Sir. You'll just need to get into the harness." He held out a bundle of black webbing.

While Silver stepped into the harness with practiced ease the two team members began to force another harness onto Ferrari.

"Wait! What are you doing? This is not fair! I don't want to go with you!"

"But Mister Farrari, didn't you say that people could be bought and sold like carpets here in the Medina? You knew we could never match the Russian's bid, yet you invited me in. Another carpet to be sold perhaps? Anyway, we have gone to some expense to get our courier back, and we will need compensation for that. I'm sure that one of your loyal sons or wives would be willing to ... enter into negotiations?"

Before he could muster a response, the extraction team hustled them onto the courtyard balcony and attached the ropes they had used to descend to their harnesses. A moment later they were lifted off the ground and pulled up out of the building.

Battery operated winches reeled them in and soon they were tucked against the soft skin of an inflatable glider.

"Satellite guidance." Silver informed the stunned dromedary. "Made from a radar transparent material dyed black to blend in with the night sky. Small sails and vents guide it, but we're running with the wind mostly."

He saw Ferrari's mouth open wide as the dromedary drew in a great breath.

"I wouldn't bother yelling for help, we're too high up and you are the only one without a parachute if they do shoot us down."

Ferrari wisely shut his mouth.

The stiff winds coming off the Atlas mountains to the west did the trick, and they drifted quickly and quietly out of the city. After what seemed like many minutes to Ferrari, they descended into a fertile valley several kilometers east of the city. They came to a stop over a field of blueberries and were gently lowered on the ropes to a clear area in it's centre.

Silver plucked a few and popped them into his mouth as the team that had accompanied them unhooked Ferrari.

"Mmmm, delicious. My Agency bought this farm years ago with only a vague intention of using it for operations." He confessed. "Perhaps it's disloyal, since Canada is famous for its blueberries, but fresh ones are only available in Autum and here they grow all year round ... and you can't have waffles without blueberries, now, can you?"

They were joined by an odd couple: a short black fox in ripped jeans and a t-shirt wearing a ball cap backwards and a taller, very busty cheetah wearing hardly anything at all. The sight of her cleavage in the moonlight almost made Ferrari forget about his predicament.

"Any problems getting past Ferrari's thugs?" Silver asked them.

"Naw." The small fox replied. "Dress like a couple of western punks and no one respects you enough to take you seriously."

"Flashing more cleavage and thigh than they see in a lifetime helped too." The Cheetah added, then she looked up. "Courrier's coming in now."

Ferrari could barely make out the shape of another inflatable sail as it drifted to a stop overhead. One of the figures it lowered was tied to a stretcher. The fox and his busty partner helped load the courier into a windowless produce truck that was equipped as an ambulance inside.

Silver put a digit to his ear to reactivate the comms link to the satellite. "The local backup team?"

"Cleaned up Ferrari's mansion and the house he had the courier in and left evidence implicating his main rival."

"They'll be surprised when the police come demanding a bigger cut now that they are the top gang in town, but pleasantly, I hope."

The black fox and Cheetah had donned local clothing that concealed their identity as well as her curves and were waiting in the front seat of the truck. "Everything is secure here Silver."

Silver pushed Ferrari into the back were one of the rescue team was tending to the battered courier before climbing in himself. Other team members erected a wall of blueberry crates between them and the rear door.

Once everything was ready, he called out to the fox in the front of the truck, "To the port of Tangiers." Then he patted the semiconscious courier kindly on the leg. "Let's get this puppy home."

"Were do we go from Tangiers?" Ferrari asked, his brows twitching as he tried to recall who there might owe him a favour and calculated the odds of surviving if he called out when they were stopped for the inevitable inspection.

The one known as Silver must have read his mind because the small pistol that had evaded his body scanners was back in his paw and pointed at his right eye.

"From Tangier we go by boat to Gibraltar and from there by plane to Brussels where the courier will be debriefed and you ... you will be our guest while we negotiate your freedom."

Ferrari sat back, silently impressed.

"You know, Mister Silver, while I do not purchase information for my own sake quite a bit about matters that do not concern me crosses my path. Information about certain countries' operations in West Africa for example. I could, eh, perhaps ... be persuaded to expand my line of business to pass such information on, in lieu of cash for the, er, ... negotiations."

Silver laughed, the aim on the small pistol never wavering.

"Yes." Ferrari smiled, knowing that a deal had been struck. "Indeed. And while we are on the subject of exchanges ... do you have a local agent to market that remarkable little pistol yet?"

"Ferrari," Silver said, still chuckling, "I think this is the start of a beautiful friendship."